


Silent Night

by Thilien



Series: 31 Days of Ineffables Ficlets [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Ficlet, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Smut, Prompt Fill, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), drawlight's advent calendar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thilien/pseuds/Thilien
Summary: Some nights are made for silence. Others are filled with sweat-slicked skin and the hunger of touch. All of them are filled with love.Prompt fill for Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar. Prompt: Silent Night. This one is soft and fluffy, with just a dash of spice.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 Days of Ineffables Ficlets [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559806
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Drawlight for coming up with the prompt list.
> 
> As always, I don't own any of this - just borrowing and playing with it for a bit. All of the good stuff belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and to the wonderful people who bought the book to life for us on the small screen.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Smut - even very mild smut - isn't my usual fare, and this one didn't exactly write up in my usual style so I'm a tad nervous about posting it. Comments and kudos are, therefore, VERY much appreciated.

**Silent Night**

_Silent Night_

Some nights are made for silence. For curling up on the sofa, his head in an angel’s lap, soft fingers curling through his hair. 

There do not need to be words.

Aziraphale will sip from a mug of hot cocoa and Crowley will doze, and the only sound will be the soft rustle of a page being turned.

After a few hours, they will wend their way up to bed. Settle together into soft sheets and snuggle into each others warmth, a demon listening to the thunder of an angel’s heartbeat as they both drift into sleep. 

_Holy Night_

Other nights are filled with sweat-slicked skin and the hunger of touch. Bodies aching for connection, desperate hands reaching out, pulling each other close. 

Crowley can feel the angel’s pulse race beneath his lips as he swipes his tongue over Aziraphale’s throat once more. Aziraphale moans at the touch, the sound travelling straight to the demon’s already aching cock.

“God you’re beautiful. The things you do to me angel - “

“ _Crowley -_ “

The angel is arching into his touch now, desperate. His hands cling to Crowley’s back, head tilted backwards leaving his throat gloriously exposed.

“Patience love,” Crowley murmurs, trailing kisses down the angel’s chest, revelling in the breathy sound Aziraphale makes when he bites gently at the angel’s hip. “It’s a virtue after all…”

Crowley has been taking it slow for so long now that he’s an expert in it. Over the course of the night, he will make hymns of Aziraphale’s hips, press prayers into his skin, and draw out benedictions from the depths of the angel’s mouth.

This too is worship.

_All is calm_

Afterwards, kiss-drunk and sated, they will twine together, skin to skin.

Aziraphale traces the sharp angles of Crowley’s face, placing soft kisses against the demon’s cooling skin.

“I love you”

And Crowley kisses him. The softed of touches on kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you too angel.”

Outside, beyond the walls of the cottage that they have made their home, the night is calm. 

_All is bright_

The morning dawns crisp and cold and clear. 

Inside, a demon lies curled around his angel. Sometime during the night the duvet has been cast aside and he is enveloped in a softly feathered wing.

Aziraphale looks out to morning sunlight cresting across the hills beyond the cottage. The first of the sun’s rays catch on the diamonds of the first December frost. The sky is crystal blue.

He leans down, grazing soft lips across Crowley’s forehead, brushing aside a wayward strand of flame red hair. 

Yellow eyes flicker open.

“Morning love.”

Aziraphale waits as Crowley uncoils himself. 

“It’s a beautiful morning.”

The demon follows his glance across to the window. The light is just creeping into the bedroom, playing softly across edges of the bed frame.

“Yeah angel,” he murmurs, watching as it catches on the angel’s golden curls, in the depths of his ocean blue eyes, “it is.”


End file.
